A Toast To The Luna

The house was silent when I stepped in, but my thoughts screamed loud enough to drown out everything.

I locked the door behind me gently—too gently. Like if I made a sound, I would shatter into pieces.

Every breath I took burned in my lungs, like the air itself was poisoned. I didn’t cry. Not yet. I just walked into our home—my home, I had called it once—and sat on the arm of the leather couch where Dante liked to lounge after long days at the packhouse.

I stared into nothing, clenching my fingers so tightly my knuckles turned white.

I could still see it.

His lips on hers.

His voice calling me pathetic.

The way she smiled like she had already won.

I swallowed bile as my wolf stirred inside me, thrashing beneath my skin. She wanted blood. She wanted war — to fight Jane and tear that smug smile off her face.

But I told her not yet.

We had to stay calm. For now.

The door opened minutes later, his scent brushing against me like a slap.

Lavender and cedarwood. But beneath it… another note. Something faint.

Lilies. Her scent.

I didn’t even turn.

“Lynda,” he called out casually, his voice still deep and warm—like nothing had changed. Like I hadn’t just caught him betraying me with my own sister.

“I’m back. Traffic was a mess, and things were chaotic at the office.” He dropped his keys into the bowl near the door like this was any other evening.

“I didn’t ask,” I said quietly, still staring at the blank TV screen.

Silence.

I could feel his confusion as he walked toward me, expecting me to rise, smile, and bring him dinner like always.

Instead, I stood and walked past him, heading for the stairs.

“Where’s my food?” he asked.

“I was busy,” I said, my voice like a sheet of glass. “Get it yourself.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re always waiting for me when I get home. What’s this?”

I turned to him slowly. “Things change.”

He scoffed. “You’re being dramatic again.”

No apology. No shame. He didn’t even care enough to cover his tracks.

“Is this about Jane?” he asked, as though I were a child throwing a tantrum.

My jaw tightened. “Why did she go to the Luna ceremony, Dante? That was meant to be me.”

He shrugged like it was obvious. “She was better suited. More graceful. Polished. Less... emotional.”

I flinched, my wolf scratching harder inside me now. He knew what he was doing. Every word was a dagger, delivered calmly, as if I were overreacting.

“She’s not even a full-blooded member of this pack!” I snapped. “She’s my father’s mistake, not a Luna. I’m your mate—chosen by the Moon Goddess herself!”

“Stop being jealous, Lynda,” he said flatly, pouring himself a glass of water. “It doesn’t look good on you.”

My heart cracked again.

“I’m not jealous,” I whispered. “I’m heartbroken.”

He didn’t reply.

Just sipped his drink, then looked at me like I was a burden. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Like that would fix everything.

Like a gift or a kiss could erase what I saw—what I heard.

I walked up the stairs, gripping the banister like it might hold me together.

---

The next morning came far too soon.

Dante insisted we go into the city. Said there was an exclusive luxury auction—a showcase of designer clothes, limited-edition shoes, bags, things Luna candidates were expected to be seen in. “Good for appearances,” he said.

I didn’t want to go.

But something in me—pride, maybe pain—refused to stay home and let Jane parade around in my place again.

The event hall was elegant, gold chandeliers glittering above a marble runway lined with velvet chairs. Wolves from prominent bloodlines filled the room. Eyes turned toward me the moment we walked in.

I stood tall beside Dante, dressed in a sleek black dress I chose myself—one that hugged my curves like armor. I knew they were wondering why she was here.

But I didn’t care.

As the auction began, models displayed dresses worth small fortunes, each more exquisite than the last. My eyes settled on a gown that took my breath away—deep crimson, laced with black embroidery that looked like flames licking the edges.

I stepped forward, reaching out to indicate my bid.

“I’ll take that one,” I said.

But just before the auctioneer confirmed it—

“Oh no, I want that dress too!” A voice cooed sweetly behind me.

Jane.

She stood in a pastel pink dress, her hair pinned like royalty, eyes shimmering with fake tears. “Lynda, I saw it first,” she added, her lip trembling.

My stomach turned. The crowd began whispering.

I expected Dante to stay quiet. Neutral. At the very least, *civil.*

Instead, he raised his hand.

“I’ll bid five times the asking price—for Jane.”

The room gasped. The auctioneer stuttered before nodding.

I stood there frozen, shame burning in my cheeks.

Dante turned to me like nothing had happened. “We can get something else for you.”

I looked at him.

At Jane, who was now clinging to his arm.

And at the dress that should’ve been mine.

I smiled—but it wasn’t kind.

It was the smile of a woman who had finally seen the world for what it was.

Broken.

Just like her.

And something deep inside me whispered, This is your last humiliation.